


Correcting the Record

by Anonymous



Category: Original Work
Genre: Anal Sex, Biting, Bruises, Clothed Sex, Crying, Desk Sex, Dubious Consent, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/M, First Time, Frottage, In-Universe Fanfic, Kink Discovery, Masochism, Masturbation, Predicament Bondage, Rough Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-07
Updated: 2020-08-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:00:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25587106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: The protagonist of Kerry-Anne's novels doesn't like how she writes his sex scenes. He has some better ideas.
Relationships: Author of Mystery Novels/Her Detective Creation
Comments: 4
Kudos: 53
Collections: Anonymous, Battleship 2020, Battleship 2020 - Yellow Team





	Correcting the Record

**Author's Note:**

  * For [K_Popsicle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/K_Popsicle/gifts).



"That's not how it goes," said a voice from behind her.

Kerry-Anne jumped, jarred out of her writing trance, and spun around in her office chair. There was a _man_ in her office. No one was supposed to be in her office. And he was standing much too close to her.

"Who the fuck are—" was as far as she got before she registered the attractively rumpled linen dress shirt, the straw fedora tugged down over a broad brow, the worn blue jeans, and—most telling of all—the brown snakeskin shoes that were the hallmark of Graydon Edmonton, protagonist of her Edgar Award–winning novels. She could even see the outline of his worry stones in his breast pocket. "Are you... some kind of cosplayer?" she asked haltingly. "Is this a prank?"

"You know who I am," he said, his voice deep and slow. He stepped right up into her personal space, his face inches from hers. "You made me."

He was so close that she could smell... nothing. No cologne or soap or anything, not even his sweat or breath. That was what convinced her he wasn't some deranged fan but a genuine supernatural manifestation. Every person smelled of something. "Graydon," she whispered. "You're... it's really you. Wow."

(Had she really gone eight books without giving him some kind of scent? Her editor was always telling her to put in more sensory descriptions...)

"That's right," he said, pulling her focus back to the here and now. "And you know what you're writing. And you know it's wrong."

She felt her face get red. "There's nothing wrong with writing fanfic!" she said stoutly. "Especially when they're _my_ characters." No one on AO3 would ever know she was _numberoneGraydonfan_. And her agent and editor had no idea this was how she kept herself engaged with her characters enough to write three books a year. But that wasn't because she was _ashamed_ of it. She wasn't a prude. She was just... prudent.

"That's not what I'm talking about."

Why had she made him a "laconic" character? "Get to the point," she said, just like one of Cathy's margin notes.

He nodded to her computer screen. "That's not what butt sex is like," he said. "You've never had any, have you?"

Her face was aflame now. "No, but... that's not... that's none of your business!"

"I'm getting tired of you writing bad sex scenes for me," he said. "I'm going to show you a few things so you can get it right." He put his hands on the desk, trapping her and demanding her focus. "You won't regret it," he said softly. "I'm a demon in bed, remember?"

Oh, Kerry-Anne remembered. That line had sparked the first few fics for her books and led her to discover the wonders of AO3 during a bout of late-night self-Googling. But that didn't mean she wanted _this_ with _him_.

She pushed at his chest. He didn't budge. "This feels kind of incestuous, don't you think?" she snapped.

"Like that story about Meredith and her sister?"

" _How do you know about that?_ "

"We all talk to each other," Graydon said. "You have no idea what we get up to between the... book covers. But I could show you." He leaned down to sniff at her neck. Kerry-Anne felt frozen. "Something you learn from reading all these stories," he murmured in her ear, "is what the author likes. What the author wants. Deep down where no one can see it." He bit her earlobe gently—just the way she liked, dammit. "I can give you that. All of it. Everything you never confessed. I know it all already."

Oh God, was she getting turned on? She was, oh God, this was not... she was not... She shook her head, but she couldn't make herself say the words.

"You like those fantasies of someone being a little... pushy, don't you, Kerry-Anne," he said. Hearing her name in his voice made her shudder. "A little forcible." One of his hands slid down into the waistband of her yoga pants (could she be wearing anything _less_ sexy? This was definitely not how she would write this scene) and discovered her wetness. "Mmmhmm," Graydon purred. "You like dreaming of someone who will give you what you want without you having to ask. Maybe even with you getting to pretend you don't like it, kick and scream and protest a little, have some plausible deniability. Isn't that right?"

"No," she whispered. "No, I..."

He dipped two fingertips in her and began to stroke the slickness over and around her clit. She closed her eyes, pinched her lips shut, tried not to moan... she _didn't_ want this, she didn't _ask_ for it, she... 

"So tell me to stop," Graydon said, rubbing her ever so gently. "Tell me like you mean it. Tell me like this isn't getting you more turned on than you've ever been in your life."

"S-stop," she said weakly. Her knees were trembling. She was, in fact, more turned on than she'd ever been in her life. How was she so close to coming already? What was he doing to her?

He pressed harder on her clit. "I don't believe you," he said. "I think you want this. I think you dream about this."

"Stop," she said, louder, grabbing his arm with both hands. But somehow, instead of pushing him away, she pulled him closer. "Stop," she said, tugging on his arm, which only had the effect of moving his hand up and down against her.

Graydon gazed down at her intently. "That's right," he said. "Take yourself apart for me."

Kerry-Anne ground herself hard against his hand, and as her orgasm thundered through her, she clung to his arm like a life preserver and started to cry, overwhelmed and full of nameless emotions. She didn't understand what was happening or why it was happening to her or how she felt about it or _should_ feel about it.

Graydon tugged a handkerchief out of his back pocket and handed it to her. "There," he said. "That wasn't so bad, was it?"

She shook her head, and then she nodded, wiping her eyes. She wasn't sobbing, really, but the tears kept trickling down her cheeks and she couldn't make them stop.

"I'm going to keep doing things to you that you're going to keep liking," Graydon told her calmly, like he was telling her he was going to go down to the store to buy milk. "Same deal. If you want me to stop, all you have to do is say it like you mean it." A corner of his mouth tipped up. "Saying it while you're humping my hand doesn't make me think you mean it."

She buried her face in the handkerchief, ashamed.

Graydon grabbed her breast through her plain black t-shirt, squeezing it roughly. She was very conscious of her bralessness. "You don't like having these played with, do you?" he said. "You never write about it."

Kerry-Anne shook her head. She hadn't really thought about why she left breast play out of her porn. She was just... straight, and not very interested in breasts. And no one had ever been very interested in hers, though she thought they were nice enough.

"Except in that one story about Meredith and Sally," he said.

Kerry-Anne tried to remember. She'd written that story years ago, she didn't—

"You just loved writing about how much Sally loved playing with the nipple clamps she'd found in Meredith's bedside table."

"Oh no," she said, realization dawning. "No, no—"

He flicked the tip of his finger against her right nipple. She gasped, feeling the nipple crinkle in response. "Now I doubt there are any nipple clamps in your desk drawer," he said, repeating the gesture on the other side. "But these will do."

"No, please," Kerry-Anne said urgently, but he was already picking up one of the colorful plastic clips that she used to organize her research print-outs and photocopies. "Please, I don't want—"

"You don't know until you try," Graydon said mildly.

He pinched her pebbled nipple through her shirt and slid the clip onto it, anchoring the thin fabric. She cried out, but the pain actually wasn't as bad as she had expected—a sharp ache. Then a second clip went on her other nipple, again through the shirt, and that one was worse. Kerry-Anne's hands came up involuntarily, but Graydon easily pushed them away. "Please," she begged, "take them off, please!"

Graydon stepped back, admiring the bright pink and orange plastic against her black shirt. He tugged gently at the shirt's hem and she yelped as the pain went from ache to stab. "Give yourself a minute to get used to them," he suggested. "When you wrote about Sally, you spent much more than a minute on this. You seemed very into it."

"That doesn't mean anything!" she cried. "It was a story!"

"I'm a detective," Graydon said. "Picking up clues is my specialty. Let's see how this clue is doing." He pulled down her yoga pants and underwear, and ran his fingers through her cleft. It was sodden. "I feel like this might be... a hint? It certainly makes me want to piece together the rest of the puzzle."

With his other hand, he grabbed a fistful of shirt, pulling it taut so she didn't dare move. Kerry-Anne began to cry again as he pushed two fingers wetly into her and began rubbing her clit with his thumb. Of course that felt good, even with her clit all sensitive from her earlier orgasm, but it didn't make the pain stop, it didn't even... didn't even make it feel more... warm and intense and throbbing and...

Graydon watched her face closely. "There you go," he said. "That's right."

"No," she said, panting through her tears, unable to stop herself from leaning back against the desk even as the movement tugged at her shirt and sent renewed shocks through her tender flesh. "No, what's happening..."

"The alchemy of pain and pleasure," he said. "Let it happen."

She shook her head, moaning, as his fingers worked her over and the pain in her breasts transmuted into something that was still pain but also not, something that drew a circuit from her nipples to her clit and ran electricity through it, hot and sparking and close to overloading her. "Please," she heard herself say, "please..."

"Not yet," he said, and his fingers _slowed_ , drawing out the tension, keeping her lingering on the edge. He let go of her shirt and pinched up and down her thigh, hard enough to bruise, little jabs of pain that made her squirm.

"Ow! No, ahh, _please_ —"

He reached up and opened first one plastic clip, then the other.

As the clips clattered to the floor and the pain vanished, his thumb stroked over her clit and she came utterly undone. An animal howl tore out of her throat. She clutched at her breasts, doubling over, her body wracked with the overwhelming force of her climax. Her legs gave out and she staggered, thrown off balance by the tangle of her pants and underwear around her ankles, but Graydon caught her, one arm around her and his other hand still between her legs, not embracing her but holding her up, letting her fall apart.

"You need to lie down," he said. "Here." He pulled his fingers out slowly, leaving her empty and gasping, and pushed her reference books to the other side of her desk. Then he picked her up in a bridal carry and arranged her on the desk, her legs and one arm dangling off. The glass of the desktop was cool against her bare backside. Her thighs and nipples ached.

"Now that we've gotten warmed up," he said, moving away, "it's time for me to keep my promise."

"What promise?" she said weakly. She tried to lift her head so she could see what he was doing. He'd taken off his hat and put it to one side, and now he seemed to be moving the leftover things from her lunch onto a side table. He carefully closed her laptop and put it on her chair. At least the story she'd been working on would be saved, even if her writing headspace had been completely destroyed. Possibly forever. How could she write anything knowing the characters were judging her? Knowing they might come after her?

Graydon shifted her toward the middle of the desk, standing between her legs with his knees in the chair well. He lifted her ankles. "Hold these," he said, folding her legs back so her knees were against her chest. Numbly, she wrapped her arms around her calves, letting the bunched-up fabric of her pants hide her face even as she put her most private parts on display for him. She didn't have the strength to fight. And... he was right, she absolutely hated to admit it, but everything he'd done so far had come straight out of her deepest fantasies and felt even better than she'd ever imagined. Maybe this would be too.

Graydon made a "hm" noise and pushed her legs back further, lifting her ass off the table. He slid a thick, wide paperback book under her and let her drop back down on it. Satisfied with the angle, he walked away.

A moment later, something trickled over her labia and down the crack of her ass. She craned her neck and saw Graydon drizzling olive oil on her from the bottle she'd brought in with her salad. "Lots of lube, that's rule one," he said. "Lots of foreplay, that's rule two." He unzipped his pants and pushed them down. He stroked his palm over her to collect some of the oil, and she couldn't see where he put it but she could well imagine. She let her head fall back and waited.

His fingers prodded at her anus. She moaned and instinctively tried to shift away, but he pinched cruelly at a spot on her inner thigh that was already bruised and said, "Hold still." So she held still as he rubbed her with oil inside and out. The intrusion wasn't as bad as she'd feared, or maybe she was too overwhelmed to feel much of anything.

She felt him wipe his hand on her side, dirtying the rag he'd made of her shirt. "Hold on tight," he said.

His cock pushing into her ass felt _wrong_ , not painful but completely out of place. She cried out and let go of her legs, but he just leaned over her and pressed them back, reaching up to grab her shoulders. He didn't so much penetrate her as force her onto him, like an apple being cored.

When he was fully hilted inside her, he let go of her shoulders and stood motionless, letting her try to accustom herself to the feeling, but she didn't want to accustom herself to it, she wanted it _out_. Her body squeezed and pushed futilely.

"Let me get these off you," he said, tugging at her pants and underwear. "I want to see your face when you start to like this."

She shook her head, defying him with every bit of strength she still had. "I don't, I don't," she protested as he pulled her clothing off, the movement pulling her against his cock in uncomfortable ways. "I don't want this!"

"But you keep writing about it," he said, bringing her ankles to rest on his shoulders. He grasped her thighs and began to work gently in and out with tiny little strokes. "You write about me and Meredith. Me and Sally. Louis and DeShawn. Me and DeShawn. In every single one of these stories, someone takes it up the ass and absolutely _loves_ it. I think you know something about yourself that you're not willing to admit." He took her hand and guided it down between her legs, dragging her fingertips across her overstimulated clit. "I think that if it's done right," he said as she hesitantly rubbed herself, "you're going to absolutely fucking love it."

Gradually he stepped up the pace of his thrusts. When she played with her clit, it _did_ start to feel good. She bit the inside of her cheek, moaning, not wanting to like anything this man was doing to her, but also wanting it more than she'd ever wanted anything. 

She felt her cunt clenching, her body hungering for the kind of penetration it was used to, and Graydon must have seen it too. He reached into the breast pocket of his shirt and pulled out two pieces of green agate, each about the size of his thumb and polished smooth—his worry stones, one of the first things she'd ever known about his character. He tucked one up inside her, then the other. They were warm from his body heat, hard and odd but not unpleasant. 

As he picked up his rhythm again, she felt the stones shift and move inside her cunt, jostled by his cock, and something about that was unexpectedly exciting, sending a shudder through her. Graydon grinned. "You see," he said. "You love it. Admit it."

"I..." She squeezed her eyes shut. "I don't... hate it?"

He laughed and started fucking her in earnest. "I forgot," he said, starting to lose his own composure. "You like it hard and fast. Don't you? All your characters do. I do."

That seemed to be the key, the flip of the switch, because suddenly all the discomfort was gone and only pleasure remained. "Oh God, I... yes, yes," she gasped, pinching her clit hard, feeling it twinge with a ghost of the pain he'd inflicted on her breasts. "Yes, fuck, yes!"

"You learn fast," he said breathlessly, watching her turn from pleasuring herself to hurting herself, watching pleasure and pain be one and the same now. "Play with your tits then. Go on!"

Terrified, exhilarated, she raised her trembling hands to her breasts.

"Squeeze them. Pinch them." His voice was urgent. Sweat trickled down his face as he rammed into her over and over. "Your body knows now. Do it!"

Kerry-Anne brushed her fingertips across her bruised nipples, as though to apologize for what she was about to do. Then she squeezed her eyes shut and pinched her nipples as hard as she could. She wailed in pain, writhing, but she didn't stop, couldn't stop, it was everything she'd ever wanted, it was everything—

Graydon sank his teeth into her calf and groaned low and loud against her as his orgasm took him. Kerry-Anne followed him over the edge, wailing.

Eventually the rush of pleasure ebbed and she pried open her fingers. The feeling of his cock slowly pulsing in her ass was indescribable, still an utterly foreign intrusion but somehow not one she minded.

Then, after a minute, as her body started to ache all over, she did mind. "Please," she said somewhat urgently, "out, please!"

For once he listened. As he stepped back and lowered her leggs to dangle off the desk, she felt his come trickle out of her ass and tried not to think about the fate of the book that was propping her up. Probably one of her reference books. She hoped it wouldn't be too expensive to replace.

The bite on her calf throbbed. The bruises on her thighs throbbed. Her nipples throbbed. Everything throbbed. She struggled up to her elbows and watched him wipe off his cock with the napkin from her lunch. He tucked in his shirt, zipped up his pants, and put his hat back on, getting the angle just right without even trying.

"I'm really looking forward to my next story," he said, nudging one of the discarded plastic clips with the toe of his snakeskin shoe. "Don't keep me waiting."

And he melted into thin air and left her there: disheveled, sticky, sore... and full of ideas.


End file.
